For You to Like Me
by Fading Grace
Summary: One of the Zodiac wants Him to like them more, so they try to learn from the others. Can they? Very angsty and, somehow, romantic. Complete!
1. Courage

How can he be so cheerful? Bounding down the hallway, laughing at nothing, blessing the day. I wave him over, nervous and hidden. I'm so weak. That's why You hate me.

"Hallo, guten Tag, und alles Gute zum Geburtstag!" he chirps, wrapping me in a hug. Taken by surprise, I fall forward and lean all my weight on him, but he isn't perturbed. "Do you need something? Is it an adventure? Hmm?" He releases me and rocks back on his heels, bending down to see my face.

I fiddle with the hem of my dress and nod silently, eyes downcast. I want to say the words, but they won't come out.

"Is everything going well?" he asks, lifting my chin with a caring finger and making me look at him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I open my mouth, certain I've found what to say, but nothing comes out. I hesitate and change my mind, saying quietly, "Can I hear you play your violin?"

I'm so weak. I can't even ask for what I truly want.

He nods happily and takes my hand, leading me to his room. "So, what do you want to hear? Something from a Disney movie? I know a couple of those."

"Something…sad, please." Even I can barely hear myself, but he seems not to notice and picks up his bow. He doesn't mind doing what he is asked.

Every thought is whisked out of my head as he starts to play. It's so deep, and the note is so lasting and melodramatic, it makes me want to cry. But I don't, because You don't like it when I cry.

The tune takes on a life of its own and I'm barely aware of the room anymore. In spite of myself, my tears begin to run down my cheeks, and I fall to my knees. How could I ever have hoped to succeed in my plan if a mere song can reduce me to a sniveling heap? How can I be worthy of Your love if all I do is cry?

He stops playing immediately, and I feel empty for the song's loss. "Did I make you sad? I'm so sorry!" Suddenly, he is on his knees before me, and I raise my eyes to see how tall he has grown. There is a light behind him. The way that he holds his hand beneath my chin, and the way his half-lidded eyes show me his concern, make me think of an angel.

I blink the tears away, but don't move. The light behind him, making him look so ethereal, is the sunlight outside his door, of course. He isn't really an angel. But still, he is so much better than me.

I open my mouth, sure that I am ready to say the words. "I can see why He likes you so much more than me."

His eyes change, showing me his understanding. I wish I had the courage to show my soul through my eyes. I know that I do whether I mean to or not, but I feel so naked. He snaps me out of my thoughts with his words. "No, don't say that. He doesn't like me any more than he likes the others. He probably likes me less."

"I wish…" I blush, and hold his hands in mine, one against my shoulder and one under my chin. "I wish I was more like you."

I wish I was more confident in myself. I wish I had the bravery to let people know what I'm feeling. I wish that all of my wishes weren't so unimportant and that someone cared.

I wish, more than anything else, that You cared.

He wraps his arms around me and lets me cry. I don't care anymore; I know that I can never be like him. He is so perfect, and I am so flawed. I don't want to be flawed in Your eyes anymore.

I think I fall asleep, because I open my eyes and I'm lying in his bed. Sitting up, I see that he's standing just inside the door, looking out at the garden. I move to stand, but the instant my feet touch the wooden floor he turns around and I freeze.

"Why are you crying?" I gasp, thinking that it's my fault. Putting my weight on the floor at last, I stumble over to him, tripping on harmless little objects here and there. "You can't cry! You can't be unhappy!"

He smiles through his tears, and I know that this isn't truly crying for him. This is only an echo of a past hurt. "I'm not allowed to be unhappy? That's selfish of you." The way he says it sound like he's teasing me, but he turns back to the window, back straight, and holds himself steady.

"I'll be selfish, then," I whisper, on the verge of yet more tears. "I don't want you to be sad."

He smiles and, without looking at me, says ironically, "I wonder what the sunlight's like." He holds his hand out and watches the light hit it. "I've never felt it. Not really. I don't think any of us have. As long as we're in his shadow, I don't think any of us ever will."

I listen, but I don't hear. No. It's not Your fault that we can't feel the sunlight.

As he talks to me with tears in his voice and on his cheeks, though, I can only think of how much I want to be like him.

But I can't. This isn't who I'm supposed to be.


	2. Knowledge

Now, don't be angry, Adi. I got involved with a lot of other stories that cropped up, one after the other. But I went back and read through the first chapter, and I fell in love with it all over again. So, here's number two! Aren't you happy? I'm glad I'm starting this out with these two people, since they are both kind to her and they both are so far separated. Oh, and it might get confusing, since I'm not using names... sorry about that.

* * *

I wait just inside the open door, peeking around it, not sure whether to speak and interrupt his work or leave. He is very handsome, but then, all of them are. Is that another thing that I fail at? Should I try to be more beautiful for You? 

"Come in," he says, taking me from my thoughts. As I look back at him, he is leaning back comfortably in his chair, smiling just very faintly. No, it's not really a smile, it's the absence of a frown. I take a step forward and stop. As he stands to come around his desk, he says, "Farther than that."

So I walk all the way to him, keeping my eyes on the ground. "I'm here," I announce belatedly.

"You're right on time. Don't be nervous, all of us must get these sorts of checkups regularly." I nod, and his hand comes to the small of my back, guiding me forward and through another set of doors. This room is stainless clean, and it makes me feel dirty for the remembered playgrounds in school where I would get all dusty from the other children throwing sand in my eyes and in my hair.

But You don't know anything about that. Thank You for Your blindness.

"Remove your clothes and sit up on the table," he tells me briskly, scribbling inanely on a paper clamped onto his clipboard.

I undress, but the table is eye-level - there's no way I can get onto it without help. I glance back at him, not sure what to do or say. Should I try to get up anyway? Would he mind helping me? He looks at me after a moment, saying, "If you want help, ask for it."

I wouldn't dare ask help from You, but he makes it easy for me. It must be weakness on his part. I like that he tells me what to do, though; I wish that I always knew what to do, like him.

I try to lift myself up by my arms, first, just to tell my best friend later that I had. As I lift my feet off the ground, my skirt tangles around my ankles, putting pressure on a dark bruise. I wince in pain and let go, finally saying, "Please help me."

"Tell me," he says as he lifts me under my arms, "about school."

"There's nothing out of the ordinary, so please don't worry about me," I answer quickly.

He doesn't reply as he checks my breathing, then takes my elbow in his hand and raises it to test my blood pressure. He is about to fasten the black strap, but stops as I flinch. I had thought that the soreness had almost gone from that part of my arm, but he had surprised me. At length, he murmurs, "I see," and moves it farther down toward my elbow. Tapping a rubber sort of hammer and making my knee twitch, his eyes are traveling up and down my legs, and I know that there is no way that he doesn't see the discolorations and healing scabs.

He stands, finally, and rubs his hand over my hair. "Do you want me to tell someone? There are people that can make the bullies stop."

I shake my head so much that I make myself dizzy as I slip from the top of the table. "You can't tell Him, please! He'll hate me, He already thinks I'm too stupid to help myself!"

He smiled, but time it was wan and tight. "Don't you think anyone else can help you?

I wrapped my arms around my body to stop the chill I felt in the warm room. "No." Only You are strong enough, only You are smart enough to help me, but I can't tell You that I need help because You'll hate me… It's a conundrum.

Tell me what I should do.

I wish that I could know things without speaking. I wish that people asked me for my opinion - and that I had one at all.

"Be strong." I raise my eyes to his lofty ones, startled. He is so tall, compared to me. I wish… I wish I could make myself stop wishing.

"What?"

He bends down and picks me up, but this time just holds me and walks into his office. I feel special, as though he's never really down this for anyone before. He doesn't have any children of his own. Does he carry his other patients? There aren't very many children in the family. Still, the way his arms are just a little bit awkward shows me that he hasn't any real practice.

Did I do it? Did I figure something out without having to ask? Are You proud?

He sits me down on his chair and kneels to look me in the eyes. "Be strong and happy, so that the bullies won't be satisfied by hurting you. If you don't cry, if you lean on your allies more, it is possible."

"But I never know when it is better to try on my own or to ask for help," I whisper desperately. "How can you tell?"

"Do you remember a woman that I used to know?" he says, very quietly.

I nod slowly. "I remember that she was beautiful, and always laughing. I was only eight when she went away. You always felt different around her. More happy."

"When she went away, I was sad. I went back to how cold and indifferent I had been before." He pauses, as though thinking of what to say next. He has never been the type to say 'um'. He only speaks when he has his thoughts together. "I would have gotten worse if my best friends weren't there."

"Like my best friend has been there for me?" I ask hopefully.

"Exactly." He watches me my a moment, and then stands up, immediately towering over me. "You are young. It's alright if you don't know anything. Just ask someone you trust, and they'll know."

I get out of the chair, thinking. As I prepare to step through the door, I turn back, smiling. "You're starting to act like you did before, when the pretty woman was with you. Did you know?"

He looks surprised, and then waves as I leave.


	3. Innocence

I absolutely love this chapter. How does our star talk to a happy girl like this one and still be so...? Oh, and, officially, I have nothing against shoujo manga/anime!

* * *

She is watching television, an anime with sparkles and highlights and enormous eyes. What is that style called? Shoujo? As I step forward and sink to the ground next to her, the boy on the screen says, in an overly dashing light, "_How can I believe you when you say you love me? You are always so much nicer to everyone else!_" 

I'm not a fan this type of show. Why do You suppose I sound so very like them?

I hear her sniffle quietly, and bend over from my kneeling position so that I can see her face. Tears are freely flowing down her cheeks and into the open package of vanilla pocky below her. "Are you sad?" I ask eventually.

"Oh, they're finally admitting their feelings!" she squeals, just now realizing that I'm here. "But, I'm sad because the next episode won't mention anything about it. That's how it goes."

I looked back at the television, head tilted to the side, as the show continues.

I'm feeling very content today. I was called in to see You, and all You talked about was how pleased You were at the report of a clean bill of health. I was afraid that You were going to say 'however…' and talk about the bullies, but You didn't. I'm glad. I know that You know about them, but perhaps you don't know how bad they are.

Beside me, she gasps, and I look back up. The girl is taking up the whole screen, and saying quietly, "_I_ do_ love you, as well as the others._"

The opposing star says, "_But you love them more than me_."

Tears, matching the girl's next to me, sparkle in theheroine's eyes. "_I love each of you differently, and no more one than another_."

To hear such things… I swallow without thinking.

'To be continued' flashes across the screen, and she rolls off her stomach and onto her back on the ground with a satisfied sigh. "I love this show. Don't you?"

"I've never seen it before," I admit, nervously spreading my cotton skirt out around me until it's like flower. "Does it show regularly?"

"Yes, every week! About once month they get close to actually going out, but it never comes to anything." She sighs theatrically, looking at the preview for next week and sucking on a stick of pocky. She notices me looking and offers the box.

Taking one, I look at her for a moment. She is almost a decade older than me, but she acts so naïve most of the time. It puzzles me.

I remember being that way, when I was very young. You took me in Your arms - I was four, my earliest memory of You - and explained quietly and clearly about being polite to everyone so that they wouldn't hate me. I tried very hard after that, but I think that I did something wrong, because You hated me after all. Why is it all right for her? Why do You still love her, and not me?

Perhaps I should be angry, or indignant. She is still in the years of her childhood, and I lost those long ago. But I can't bring myself to do anything but like her. I know that we are somehow related, cousins many times removed, but she is more like an older sister.

"Hey, you know what I want right now?" she asks, eyes sparkling. "I want to go train! You know, at the dojo!"

…Or a younger one. Either way, she is kinder to me than most.

"I don't take lessons," I remind her gently as she pulls me to my feet.

She hummed, finger to her cheek. "You don't have to train with me. I really just want to see my special someone."

"What will _I_ do, though?"

A knowing grin spreads out before me, and she leans in close. "Well, another certain someone comes and watches, too. He likes telling _my _certain someone about everything he's doing wrong."

I look down, my face hot. "I suppose that I'll go, then. I mean, he's my best friend…"

She giggles, skipping into the kitchen and singing, "We'll pack a snack, then!"

I follow her. "Um, may I ask you a question?"

She pauses as she opens a cupboard. "Of course, sweets. What do you want to know? The meaning of life? - To love! Are we alone in the universe? - No, the backup female army is still waiting on Venus!" Taking a soldier's posture and saluting in what she must think is Venus's direction, she stops and smiles happily before going back to work.

I don't even try to understand. "How come you're always so happy?"

"Well, I think it's because I'm determined to stay like this." She sets a bag of cheesy crackers on the counter and reaches into the refrigerator for a juice box. "Plus, when I was about your age, someone told me that they liked me better when I didn't understand anything unpleasant about the world. Now, even though I _do_ understand, I don't show it for his sake."

"Are you truly happy, then? If you're not showing yourself for who you are, doesn't that count as lying?"

"Hah, I suppose it does. Sometimes it doesn't work and I sort of lose control, but people forgive me that a little."

She smiles at me, and I smile back. My heart isn't in it. Perhaps this is what she feels with every single smile that she shows...?

I wish that I didn't understand anything. I know that it isn't _everything_, but it is enough to not be a child anymore. I wish that I could go back to when I was little, and You held me. Why did You have to say such things?

Why don't I please You enough, no matter what I do?


	4. Humility

"Ah, welcome, I had hoped that you would come," he calls as he opens the door and waves me inside. "I mean, not that I wanted to pressure you into coming against your will when I called! You should have refused, poor girl, if you didn't want to come, because then I wouldn't have made such a pathetic dinner for you!"

I take a breath after that outburst, ready to deny it, but the moment of quiet passes. As he continues to apologize, I remove my shoes and move into the next room.

"I don't mean that I made you a pathetic dinner, of course! I tried my hardest to make something pleasing for you, but I failed and now it is useless and without taste. This humble person begs forgiveness for his shortcomings!"

I stop just inside the room and watch as he all but dances around the room, worrying and cleaning up nonexistent dust. "There isn't any need…"

"I'm sorry for presuming that you would want to eat with me! It's been so long since we have had a chance to talk pleasantly to each other, I had hoped… But you must have had something else planned! Naturally you would cancel everything else and come, since you are a very kind person, but maybe you were going to go to a party!"

I raise my hands, trying to calm him down. "No, nothing like-"

He wraps me in a hug and begins spinning around, crying and singing. "I'm so, so, sorry for making you miss your party! I'm sure it would have been fun, with lots of presents and noisemakers and cake that would taste so much better than what I made!"

Where is the place that was shown to me? I reach out with my left hand, pressing hard on his side. He stops, mouth open, and hesitates a moment before sinking semi-gracefully to the floor. When my feet touch wood, I remain standing, but he seems to be dead asleep.

He always seems to anticipate admonition. I wish, even though I try not to, that I could know to apologize any time that I did anything wrong. Perhaps he overdoes it, but, still… If I know when I have done something wrong, I can beg forgiveness and then You won't hate me as much.

I stay where I am for a moment, puzzled over what I should do. I walk into the next room, where a veritable feast is sitting on four trays. Is this what he has prepared for us? I lift one of the large platters and struggle under the weight into the next room. Once it is on the table, I look back at him, where he is beginning to show signs of waking.

I kneel, the fancier-than-usual - it's down to my ankles - dress draping over my legs and folding on the floor. "Are you alright?" I whisper, trying not to disturb his sleep, if he still is, in fact, sleeping. "I'm sorry for pressing your side."

His eyes slide open slowly, but, when he sees me above him, he shoots into a sitting position. We bump foreheads, and I fall backwards, mostly from surprise. He takes his feet quickly, and then offers his hand.

Not so much 'offers his hand' as 'takes my hand and pulls me up', really.

"Are you injured? Have I maimed you? Oh, this is all my fault! How can you ever forgive me?"

"It's not your fault," I say quickly, before he gets carried away again. "I'm happy to be here. Um, and, in the next room, there are still three of the trays of food…"

He looks horrified and rushes to get them, shouting about having made his esteemed guest work. While just one had made me strain myself, he carried three in one trip: one in each hand, and one balanced almost unconsciously on his head.

I rush to take the last from him, because he is known for accidents. "How do you do things correctly when you're not trying?" I asked out of curiosity. "I mean, you usually drop things, but not when something really matters."

"I don't think about it, actually," he smiles with kindness. "If I do, I end up getting nervous. But then, if I try that, I leave something out and get called a scatterbrain."

"I'm happy that you invited me," I say eventually, after we have started eating. "We are far apart age-wise, and we never talk at the Banquet, since our years aren't together…"

He swallows quickly, almost choking in his haste. "I will make sure to speak with you next time! If you're lonely, all you need to do is say something, and I will try my best to entertain you!"

"No, usually I talk to my best friend," I reassure him. "It's not as though I'm ever lonely."

"That's good," he murmurs. He takes another bite of his fish, chews, and swallows before he says, "But, still, talk to me at the Banquet. I _do_ get lonely sometimes, because people think that I'm too rambunctious to be around very much."

I put my hand on his, and lean into his side. "I don't think that. I like that you know when you've made a mistake. I want to do that, too."

He looks down at me with surprise, then wraps his arm around my shoulders. I can smell the mothballs-and-silk scent of his kimono being masked by jasmine perfume. "Thank you for saying so, but you don't make mistakes as often as I do. You're perfect the way you are."

I know that it isn't true, You have told me so. Even though it's a lie, it makes me so happy to hear the words. Once something is spoken, it becomes true, in the same way a story is true.

"Thank you," I say, trying not to show that I'm holding back tears.

Soon, he begins to move away, but I grab his sleeve and hold his arm where it is.

"Can we stay like this for a little while longer?" I sob, unable to stop myself. "Can I believe it for a few minutes more, even though I know it's a lie?"

I start to weep as he leans his head against mine.

* * *

**...I'm crying... Imean, even though I write sad things, I almost never actually cry. Love, love, love this character. I was so mean to him, in Akito's Love, too...**


	5. Happiness

You told me once, when I was asking questions, that ignorance is bliss. When I met him, I wondered if he had been what You were talking about. He is always loud, and noisy, and says exactly what is on his mind, even if it's of no consequence.

I asked You about him, later, but You grew angry and told me that I questioned too many things.

I don't ask You questions anymore.

The door slams open as I raise my hand to knock, and I am drawn inside in a flurry of starched lace and blue velvet. "My dearest cousin, welcome, welcome, a thousand times welcome to my humble shop!"

"Hello," I stutter, trying hard not to trip on the dress's train running gracefully along the floor.

"I'm so happy that you're here! So punctual, too! I must confess that I am not nearly so virtuous as you, and it will be a very few minutes before it's ready!" He is taking very long strides, and giving a twirl every third step.

The train sweeps below me, and I try to hop to avoid it. Catching my toe, I pitch forward into his arm, wrapping my hands around it.

"Whoops," he lifts his arm and I struggle to hold on, before he sweeps his other arm behind my knees and holds me like a bride. "We must be careful, mustn't we? I apologize for my dress that I have sewn with my own poor, fragile, calloused hands!"

He paused, waiting with a tiny pout until I stammered, "I-it's very pretty on you."

"I thought so, too!" he gushed, moving down the hallway again. "But, you know, it is only meant as a demonstration of the sorts of things my shop sells. What _you're _going to wear is much better, since I used a single stitch on the inside of the seams. You almost can't see them!"

He entered the main room of the store and laid me down on a couch. "Now, you just wait here for my lovely wife to help you! I shall be toiling away, completing your gorgeous gown!"

I lay there, watching him leaping away. He got to the other couch in the room, moved a light blue pile of something to the side, and sat with his legs crossed primly. He pulled the pile back onto his lap, turning what had to be a skirt inside out and deftly threading a needle. As his fingers moved, slowly coming down the line of the hem, I watched in fascination.

He is always confident that the people around him will put up with his antics, and is always sure that he's more endearing than actually annoying. He knows what he's doing. But, as I look on, his hyperactivity settles and his blissfully ignorant smile becomes almost motherly. All the time, the needle follows its course with clean and precise movements.

He is a different person, when something really matters.

A woman with tightly curl pigtails in a maid's dress greets me. "He isn't finished yet?"

I shake my head and pull myself up to sit properly. "Is the dress very pretty?"

"Oh, it _is_. He's put his soul into this one. It's only very rarely that he allows one of his family members to wear his work, let alone model." She presses a finger beneath my chin and turns my face up to hers. "And all of you are so adorable!"

As I blush, she moves away from me to take up a brush and bobby pins from the table, finally stopping behind him. Trying not to disturb him, she takes all of his long hair and lays it in a line down his back. She brushes through it carefully, never tugging too hard on a knot. Then, she starts to style it.

When she's finished, it's like a sculpture of braids. I'm struck with a desire to grow my hair out.

She examines his progress and comes back to me. "I'll only do a little bit, alright? You'll like it, and it will match his." I nod, and my long bangs are taken up with a happy smile.

When he's finished, he stand up in a pose of triumph and presents it to her regally. Before she has a chance to show me my hair, she's whisked me off to a changing room and helping me into the new dress.

As she is tying silk laces in a pattern up my wrist, I ask, "Are you really his wife?"

"No," she only pauses a moment, and her smile doesn't fade, "but maybe I will be, one day. He won't explain anything to me, but he asked the head of his family for permission and was refused. I thought it odd, since usually he would be asking mine, and they would have agreed wholeheartedly."

I closed my eyes, remembering. "Yes, He likes to keep some of us close to His heart."

"It doesn't matter. As long as I can remain with him, nothing matters."

When she is finished, she takes me back out, and a sort of stage has been set up. A photographer is there, having an argument with him about staying still.

Both fall silent as I approach.

I'm wrapped in his arms again, suddenly, and he whispers, "Thank you for helping make my dreams come true."

I'm not able to see the pictures that the photographer takes, but she has an instant-developing camera and shows us at the end. There we are, almost like royalty, but he is too beautiful to be a king.

"You can keep it, as a memory of this most glorious of days, my princess," he says, going into a deep bow as he gives me both the picture and a light blue rose. "Whenever you see either of these things, think of me with fondness, and I shall be content forever!"

I watch as she respectfully reminds him that a rose won't last very long, and, in spite of myself, start to giggle quietly.

I wish that I was as loved as he is.

And I wish that I could stop learning of things that You do to keep us from happiness.


	6. Kindness

She is beautiful to me. She always, always smiles for me, just when I need it. Sometimes, I wish that she were You, that You were as kind to me as she is. I know that it is impossible. I know that You hate her.

I cannot understand why.

I am walking home from school. There are good days and there are bad days, and today was a bad day. My best friend, my knight in shining armor that rescues me from the other children, was called in to see You today. He was no there to stop the food from being thrown, or the pencils, or the markers. I had been pushed, but my knee hadn't bled very badly and it was numb anyway.

"Is that you?" I whirl around as I hear her voice, shocked. She doesn't walk home this way, does she?

"Hello," I breathe, trying to smile. It's difficult, and I reach up to my cheeks. When did tears get there? I don't remember starting to cry…

She takes my hand and pulls me to a bench, obviously concerned. "Are you alright? Your uniform is stained!" She goes from my head to my shoes, seeing every injury, every piece of evidence that shows my weakness. I'm not sobbing; I just watch her as she worries and talks and asks me what happened.

The tears are coming faster. I feel so humiliated. I try so very hard not to let people see me on the bad days. All I can gasp out is, "Today was a bad day…"

She's crying, too. I don't know if You can understand something like guilt, but it horrifies me to have made her smile disappear. "I was coming home from the store. Do you want to come with me?"

I close my eyes, finally, and feel the tears hot on my cheeks. "I don't want anyone to see." My bag drops top the ground, my books soggy from being dropped in the fountain. I cover my face with my hands, bending down, trying to hide. "Please don't look at me!"

Her hand rests on my shoulder, and I hear her pick up my books. I am steered away, and all I can do is allow my tears to dry up and keep my eyes on my feet. Before I know it, she is keeping me out on the porch of the home she has made with my relatives. "Is anybody home?" There isn't any answer, so she pulls me inside and leads me upstairs. "Don't worry, I'll do a load of laundry. And you can take a bath."

I nod blindly and allow her to take my dirtied clothes. After I carefully wash everything I can, I dry off and peek my head out the door. "A-are you here?" The sound is too soft to carry far. Wrapped in a towel, I walk carefully to the end of the hall, where I know her room is.

She is inside, plying a needle and thread to a tear in one of my socks. At the sound of the door, she turns with a smile that makes me warm. "Your clothes will be ready before you leave. Until then, borrow something from my closet!"

I nod and make my choice. It's light orange, a summer dress made of terry cloth. I fidget with it a little bit, trying to get it to fit properly, but eventually give up. I'm not a woman yet, and don't have the figure to fill out her clothes.

"Here, let me see." She pulls the thin straps tighter and it looks a bit better. "It'll only be a few years before we can share clothes! Oh, but you're so cute now, I'll bet you'll look like a model by then. I'll bet someone will be happy about that!"

I watch myself in the mirror, and all I see is something broken that You have discarded. How can anyone want a girl with such empty eyes?

She bends down to inspect my knee, and asks quietly, "Does this hurt anymore?"

I shake my head and try to smile. "It never hurts, in the end. I try to forget about everything. Usually I let my best friend think about it."

Her eyes widen just a little bit. "But it hurts you, doesn't it? Having to be protected, I mean."

My smile slips, and I look back at myself. "I want to be able to save myself sometimes."

She stands above me, holding my face up to look at it. "You don't have to, though. When Mother died, I was all alone, and I didn't even tell my friends. But your family, and mine, now, has helped me so much! I can live a much better life with the opportunities that have been given to me!"

I reach out, and touch her waist. Without thinking, I take it into my arms and begin to weep. "I want to be as kind as you are!"

She pulls me closer, a hand on my hair. "You already are."

But I don't stop, I don't even try. That a person who has seen me so vulnerable, and still wants me, is an alien feeling.

Why do You hate her so much? I'm sure that she could make you feel warm, just like all of us. Maybe all that any of us want is a mother to help us stay strong.

I wish that I could become as good a mother as she will.


	7. Hope

He has never smiled at me. I've only seen it once, while over at his house for dinner. His certain someone apologized for making a dish with leeks, because my best friend had requested it. He shook his head and took a bite with his chopsticks, making a show of almost spitting it back out, before keeping his head down and his lips curving up.

I only saw it because my head was lower than his. He was smiling down at the dinner she had made while worrying over his happiness.

Ever since, I have wanted someone to smile at me the same way that he was smiling down at his food.

I am walking down the road, having been watching the students at the dojo train. All of them following the same katas in unison have a calming effect on me, so I go as often as I can. I pass a bus stop and a shock of orange hair catches my eye. I know it can't be anyone but him.

So I go under the plastic roof and sit down next to him. I don't think he notices, so I lean down until I can see his face. "What's the matter?"

He looks as though he's concentrating on something. "Can you smell that?"

I focus on the smells around me, and blink. My senses are sharper than most, because of the tiger possessing me, and I can just barely catch something in the wind. "It's going to rain."

"Yes," he growls, "it's going to _rain._"

I know that he hates rain. I hate it, too. I stay there with him, glad that I found out before I was caught out in the street; it's a long way home.

When the first drop hits the roof, echoing in the nearly-empty little hut, I ask quietly, "Are you going to take the bus home?"

"It's a ten-minute walk from the closest stop to my house," he snarls, the sounds raising the hair on both or necks. "I don't see why I should."

"It's going to be a long time before it stops." I blink at him a moment more, and suggest, "Come to the Main House and I'll get you an umbrella to use."

"No." The answer is instantaneous.

"You'll be here until morning…"

"Don't care. I'm not going to that hellhole."

I look away, out at the downpour. "She will be worried about you."

Now he flinches. "What if He punishes me?" I've never heard him sound so young.

The way that he mentions You, as though he thinks of You in the same way I do, surprises me. I've always though that he hates You…but that may be the reaction of a rebellious child trying to get attention. It is a revelation that turns my head back toward him.

"You can stay outside the gates while I get the umbrella for you, if you think He will be angry at seeing you there."

The bus pulls up, and I stand up to rush into the doors once they open. Just as the air is released and they pull apart, he picks me up and bends over me to keep me dry in for the few seconds we are unprotected.

He sets me down in a seat and glares away from me. "Fine. But you have to be quick about it."

I smile at him, and neither of us say a word until we rush out of the bus and under a protective overhang. I lead him to the main gate and tell him to wait, then dash from the gate into the waiting room of the mansion that occupies the center of the largest plaza. I grew up in the family's city; I know my way around by now. I grab a dark blue umbrella and dash back out, opening it up to keep the uncomfortable wetness away.

I reach the gate again and offer it with a breathless bow, happy at being able to help. He takes it from me, and holds it over both of us for a moment before grudgingly thanking me.

"It's payback for protecting me from the rain. Now I'm doing the same for you."

He ruffles the hair on the top of my head and turns to go. Watching his back getting small, I run to him and tug on the bottom of his shirt. "Yeah, kid? What now?"

I motion for him to bend down, and then say, "Every god has the ability to forgive those He has cast aside." I press a kiss to his cheek and look at my shoes, knowing that my face is red.

When I can't stand it anymore, I look up, and there it is - he is smiling at me. "Thanks. We'll both have to keep that in mind."

As he walks away for good, I slowly turn back to get into my house.

You have the ability to forgive. You have to, or else all of this is in vain.

I have to, _we_ have to believe that…


	8. Voice

Haha, I'm amazed. This chapter was like pulling teeth to get started, but, viola. It's actually kind of happy. Oh, well. it's not my fault.

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When I was younger, about five, we all used to walk in the gardens together, You, he and I. I didn't talk to him then - I hardly spoke, which later grew worse - but I always remembered the quality of his voice. It was smooth, like velvet, and it always made me a little sleepy.

Perhaps 'sleepy' isn't the right word - it made me feel…safe? Comforted? It was a good feeling. In my young, small heart, there wasn't enough room to hold the emotion, so it all overflowed. As I tried to hold it in my hands, I watched it slip through my fingers, like warm, golden honey. It was a good feeling.

I spent a lot of time in my own mind then, trying to make the world a more beautiful place than I was beginning to see. That was weak of me. Before You reprimanded me for it, I decided to stop, and now I need just a little more practice to see what's before me.

I miss the time when my heart could be filled with honey. My own thoughts are distracting me from my book. I was feeling lonely, so I moved from my room out to the gardens. Sitting here, in a place where we used to spend so much time, is nice. The smell reminds me of You.

My ears catch the crunch of feet on the gravel walkway. Someone is coming to disturb me. Just as well, I don't want to continue reading the same sentence a fifth time. I close the book and hold it up to my chest as the steps round a corner and I can see him now.

He is…surprised, to say the least. He recovers before he reaches me, and sits down. All that is missing now is You. We could have our happy walks in the gardens back.

"Are you well?" he asks at length. I close my eyes at the voice. I over romanticized it as a child, and something in my heart tries to scrabble for the honey feeling. It's gone again, soon enough.

"Yes," I sigh. "I've been seeing a lot of the others, lately. I'd forgotten how friendly they are."

I can see him out of the very corner of my eye, and he chuckles softly. It's almost better than his words. "I can imagine. I've heard of your difficulties in school." When I am quiet, shamed, he adds, "You can always come to any of us and find a friend. We understand."

Now I try to think of why he is better than me. He is Your favorite, I know that much. He's always with You. This is the first I've seen him alone. But what sets him apart from the others? Indescribably better than me; I don't know how to become more like him. He is more normal than all of us. Is that it? Do You cling to a whole person, someone not broken?

He says, almost as a hum below hearing, "Do you remember our walks? You were very young."

"I remember." I smiled, truly. Sometimes, I accidentally stumble onto a particularly happy moment. "I remember that He would carry me on his shoulders."

"Yes, he laughed back then. I miss that part of him."

I finally lift my head and turn to him, where he is sitting against my same tree. "Do you mean that he doesn't laugh anymore? I've heard it plenty of times."

He grins without humor. "That isn't real. He's forgotten the difference. Doesn't it sometimes make your spine tickle?"

As he smiles sadly at me, I come to a new revelation. It's not that You want someone whole, because no one whole can smile with such despair in his heart. You've broken him, too, when I wasn't looking.

"He'll remember again, won't he?" I ask quietly. Something about this, the gardens and the company and the thoughts of you, is turning me back into that little girl.

"I hope so. That's all I can do."

I put a hand over my heart, finally realizing what the empty feeling is. All of the honey from his voice is draining out from the hole I put in myself just for that purpose. I wonder if everyone else has one of them, a hole. I wonder if You do. Does he?

"When you have a good feeling," I begin slowly, "does it always drain away?"

"It does." His large hand pushes my hair behind my ear. "But it won't, someday."

"When?"

He honestly laughs, "When you fall in love." He tilts his head, having a thought, and continues, "But only when you're with that person. I still have my sadness, after all."

"Are you in love?" If he didn't like me delving into his life, he shouldn't have given me the opportunity.

"Technically," he winced, after a moment. "I'm not going to see her anymore. She deserves better than me."

"No, that's wrong," I pout. "If she's your special person, she wants to be with you, too."

"Well, I have heard that she does, yes," he sighs.

"And you're going to leave her alone? What about her feelings?"

"What could she want in me?" he asks sharply. "I'm no better than most, and no one wants something wrecked." I look down for a moment. "No, I didn't mean that," he waves his hand impatiently.

"Maybe she likes your voice," I say suddenly. "Maybe she thinks that you are patient, or kind to others. Whatever she sees in you, she probably doesn't want to lose it like this." My hands are pulled together as fists in my determination. Why do I care so much?

He looks at me a moment, and then starts giggling. "Yes, yes, my strong cousin. I get the message,"

We are quiet for a short time. Following my own thoughts, I say, "Who does He have?" He doesn't answer, but his face looks grim.

Who do You have to make your happiness stop leaking away?

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I know, gasp, this one wasn't as sad. More...she was trying to comfort him? A sort of juxtaposition? I don't know. She wanted to say and do such things, I have nothing to do with it.


	9. Defiance

Sometimes I think that I should have more in common with her than I do. We've been through similar things; You punished both of us, at different times and for different things. She is ahead of me in life by some few years, but that hasn't made a difference to her. We're both out of Your good grace. Why are our personalities so separate, if we have had almost the same life?

She is deftly rolling the dark red lipstick out of its silver tube. After her lips are covered to her satisfaction, she smacks them together and inspects herself. She looks dressed to kill.

On her bed, I ask, "Are you going to go to a party?"

"Of course I am," she snaps, apparently annoyed with me. "You think I'm going out of my way to impress you?"

"You're supposed to be watching me." It is a faint hope, and even I know that it won't work.

"I'm supposed to be living a nice life of luxury inside a damn glass cage, but you can see how much I'm enjoying that." Soft boots are pulled up to her thighs and zipped closed.

I shake my head. "What will I say if someone comes and checks to make sure you haven't left me alone to set the house on fire?"

"Tell them that I'm a delinquent, they'll believe you," she grunts, in a bad mood. But then, she always is.

As she turns around in the mirror on the wall, I say, "It won't matter to you whether you go or not."

"That's right, little girl," she suddenly growls, dropping her hands and rounding on me. "I'm a poor, misguided teen with a sad past that is trying to forget with self-destruction."

She is stalking towards me, hands in fists. I scoot back across the bed to the wall. "You know what? I'm not going to let your lack of guts stop me from having some fun. I'm not going to cry and be a victim. I'm going to go out and live my life, because no one can force me to do otherwise!"

As I'm curling up, pressing to the wall to stay away from her, she seems to reconsider and tosses her purse onto a chair. Sitting down on the mattress, she takes a deep breath and continues, more calmly, "We both know why I've been saddled with you. They're hoping I'll learn to take responsibility for something."

"But you're not going to."

"No, I'm not. I'll be a proper adult when I say I will, not them."

"This defiance won't make Him like you," I whisper.

Her eyes narrow. "I don't care. Bad things happen when he doesn't like someone, but bad things still happen when he does. Nothing will get better, even if he decides that you're not as much of an idiot today."

I move closer to her, calming down. "You don't believe that you can make yourself a better person?"

"I don't. I don't need to, anyway." She lies down, so that she's facing the ceiling and I can see all of her face. "The truth is that we're all alone."

"I'm here with you."

She snorts, almost laughing, but not quite. Actually, I've never heard her laugh. How odd. "You don't get it. We're alone in our own heads. There's not going to be some magical moment when you realize that living like we are isn't so bad, because it really is bad and there's nothing we can do to change it. The only cure is a bullet in the brainpan."

"And that's what makes you sad, that you can't change what you already have?"

"You're being intentionally retarded." With more patience than I think she really possesses, she says slowly, "I'm not sad about it. I'm pissed. It's all his fault, for doing this to all of us. We're _all_ alone, and we're always going to be alone, and there's not even room for hope."

I lay down, next to her, looking at the same ceiling. We've both been through such similar things. Why can't I see the ceiling the same way that she does? Did I just take a different lesson to heart? "That sounds a lot more like sadness to me."

"Do you see me crying?"

"That doesn't mean that you're not sad…" She doesn't respond, and we both stay still for a little while. Finally, I ask quietly, "You really don't think that it matters, whether He likes me or not?"

"Not at all. He'll be just as possessive, and he'll keep you away from others. You'll still be alone."

"Couldn't I just be together with my special person? I wouldn't need anyone else. That way, I wouldn't be alone."

"I have a special person, too, you know." The way her voice breaks makes an ache flutter through my chest. "He especially doesn't want any of us to have special someones. I think that he really wants our special someone to be him, so that none of us will go away."

"Because He's alone, too?"

She stands up, making the bed shift under me. As she maneuvers out the open window, she pauses and answers, "Listen to me. Just because he's alone doesn't make it okay for him to force us to be that way. It's taking away our humanity."

After she disappears, I stay still.

You are alone, yes. But just because we're all alone doesn't mean that we're not human - the little pain in my heart lets me know that I'm still alive. And You're the one that gave it to me.

She and I are alike in many ways. But she rejected You completely. I still want You to see me. Maybe then we can be together, and not as alone as before.

Can I be Your special someone? Can I possibly change enough for that?

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Whedon shout-out! Yes! Anyway. I can never tell if there is any emotion in what I write (am I immune to it, being the author?) so I don't know if this is at all interesting. She was more patient than I wanted her to be - I think I mentioed, in the story itself - but she is a bit of a wilting flower.


	10. Honesty

I am a bad girl. Everyone talks about how innocent I am - but I'm not. I think things that I shouldn't. I am more cruel in my own heart than anyone else I know. It is a secret that I keep, and it hurts me not to show it to anyone. The suffering that I wish the other children could feel, the way my hands clench tight with the will to cause harm…

I have darkness in me.

But I believe that everyone does. I know that You do - You have made no effort to lie about it. I see it sometimes, in their eyes, before they close up and turn away.

He isn't like that. He seems almost proud of his darkness, of how much he manipulates others. He brags about it to his friends. I can almost, almost believe that he has worked out a way to control You. You always seem to be angry with him one day and have forgiven him the next.

This honesty. You have it, and he has it. Should I try to have it, as well?

"Ah, my dear girl. Welcome. It's been quite a while." He is standing in a ridiculous pose, waving a paper fan. As carefree as he looks, I can see his eyes narrowing, working out all the reasons I could be here, all the possible ways he could benefit from this.

I have to be straightforward. "I have a question, please."

"Of course, of course," he cries, snapping the fan closed and pushing it behind his ear, like a pen. He takes a seat behind his desk and waves for me to do the same.

Feeling small, I sit down and twist my hands together. "I want know how to make Him like me."

He pauses for a moment. When I look up at him, the fan is out from behind his ear and he is leaning on his elbows, studying me carefully. "It's been more than a year since he hurt you."

"I know that," I murmur.

"And you suddenly want to know now?"

"Yes."

"Why?" And I have known that he would ask me. He has to. His darkness is different from mine. Where I wish that people would be…_hurt,_ he wishes to know everything. Because when he knows everything, he can change it just a little bit. He doesn't have to tell other people the same thing, really.

But I don't have to, either.

"I was trying to stay away from Him. He…scared me. I don't want to be hurt." I try to keep a straight voice, to look him in the eyes, but I can feel my cheeks getting warm and stare at my hands.

He leans back, now, hands laced together at his neck. "So, why do you want to have him like you?"

"It's safer," I say, almost on the heels of his own words.

"I see." The intense stare he gives me is unnerving. He's never done that to me before. Maybe I've never merited it? He sighs, eventually. "Listen, the closer you are to him, the more dangerous it becomes. It's one thing if he thinks that you've done something bad, but another if he thinks you've betrayed his trust. He has hurt all of us, at one time or another."

"What did he do to you?" I can't help asking.

He smiles. Why do we all smile when we aren't happy?

"Now then, my sweet, innocent girl," he says expansively, "why not tell me the truth? I'm _very_ curious."

I flinch at the good-natured taunt. "I'm sorry!"

"Not at all. I'm proud of you. This just shows that you understand more about the world." He watches me closely. "But I'm afraid that I don't understand the need."

"I _do_ want Him to like me," I explain desperately. "I've been trying to figure out how! I don't know what else to do. He always forgives _you_!"

"And do you love him?" The dark black of his eyes startles me. Why is he so angry?

"What do you mean?"

"What you want from him. Do you want him to like you, like a friend? Or do you want him to love you?"

His voice is rising. Why? Why is he so angry at the idea? Am I not allowed to want You to love me? Is he trying to protect me from You…or You from me?

I decide on the easiest answer. "As a friend, of course."

"Of course." He takes a deep breath, and the smile is back. "I must warn you. He doesn't like it when people are different than what he expects. And, also, he doesn't like people that don't…tell the truth."

I close my eyes in shame. "Don't tell him. I've been trying so hard…"

"Tell him everything, the next time you see him. That's all you can do." He sounds like a businessman, dismissing a meeting. "Do you need anything else?"

I do. It's something that he might understand. "Why?"

He merely raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, why does He want us all to love him? Why is He always so…"

"Childish?" he finishes for me.

"…god-like…" I whisper. "He wants us all to _revere_ Him."

"And you do."

"Don't you? He is in control of so much of me, all the time. I can't help but trust him to take care of me."

And he just smiles again. I can't help but feel that he has manipulated me…somehow. A streak of defiance in me wants to find it and do the opposite, out of spite, but I won't. This is not his decision. It is mine. And I will do what I want.

I want You love me. I want You to trust me back. It's almost a weight upon me, the desire to have you simply _care_.

He didn't manipulate me into this, did he?

Or did You?

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Hmm. I don't know if I like what she's doing. It's fascinating to me, though. The hugely different way that they act toward her and Him, I mean. If you haven't read Akito's Love, don't worry, but if you have, you might notice how different they all are from themselves. It's amazing to me. Well, I have only four chapters left. Perhaps something will happen (:no plan whatsoever:)


	11. Deceit

I have been putting off this meeting. The fact that I have to turn to him, now, is evidence that I have almost failed. Even after trying so hard to change for You, I am not ready. And I'm running out of people to ask for help.

He is studying, back straight, pencil in a loose grip. I'll bet that his handwriting is elegant. Everything else about him is so controlled, so careful, that it reminds me of a mirror. If I try to touch him, will he break? I don't want to be responsible for that. I've seen the things that come after.

"Well," he says after a few seconds, closing the composition notebook and turning in his chair, "I hear the you have a few questions? If it's homework, I'm glad to help."

"It's not, I'm sorry," I apologize meekly, looking at the knot of his tie. He's still in his school uniform, even though it's late at night. "I have to asked about Him."

His soft almost-smile turns into a thin grimace. "I also heard about that. I can handle it."

I nod, encouraged by his reaction. At least he wasn't angry. "The way you hold your emotions in-"

"I'm working to correct it," he preempts me.

"No…isn't that what he likes about you?" I try desperately. "I need to be enough for Him! I need to be what He wants!"

His eyes go wide, and he grabs my wrist suddenly. "No," he says, almost calmly, but then hisses, "no, you don't. You haven't the faintest idea of what he's capable of doing to the ones he loves."

"You're hurting me," I whisper, trying not to cry. It's an automatic reaction for me, to cry whenever someone raises their voice. When he lets go, I say, "I love Him."

"We all do," he sighs, running his hand through his hair. "Somewhere, we all love him. We can't help it."

"So, why isn't everyone trying to do what I am? Why doesn't everyone try to be better in His eyes? Everyone has been trying to make me stop!" It doesn't make sense. Why am I always the odd one out?

He pushes his chair away from the desk and stands up, rummaging around in his book bag. "I want to show you something. Look at this picture."

He holds out a snapshot, and I recognize him in his summer school uniform. Next to him is a dark-haired boy, who is grinning and enlisting the help of a younger boy to hold a giggling girl sideways. He is trying to stop them, but not succeeding. Last is a pretty girl, trying to hide behind her hair. It looks like so much fun…

"Are these your friends?"

"Yes, they are," he smiles after some hesitation. "I used to do whatever he told me to, but then I chose to go to my high school, and came to live here. Even then, I would only go to school, and from school back home, with barely a word to anyone. I never wanted to get close to someone. Then, she came to live here, and I had to talk to her, at least. My circle of people I trusted had grown. Later it expanded to include her friends, and now, I'm even adding my own." His eyes are closed, and he reminds me of a prince, just like his brother. Well, close.

He looks down at me, almost pitying. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to have something that he doesn't control?"

I admit, "No…I don't have any friends outside the family."

"Maybe you should try to experience the world before you willingly tie yourself up in his strings. You don't understand why we're trying to get away, you don't know both sides of the argument."

"I know what I want." I sit down, against a wall, and draw my knees up to my chin. "I want to help Him."

"Help him? How, by doing what he wants?"

"Something like that." For the first time, I say it aloud: "I want to be his special someone."

There is a soft gasp, and it isn't from me. "Do you mean love? Romantically?"

"Yes…"

"And you see the difference between what I feel for you and what you want him to feel for you?"

"I do."

"Then I can't help you. I don't think you should."

I nod, and stand up. "I have to go. My chances are running out."

At the door, he calls me back. "My cousin, I hope that you find happiness. Even if it has to come from him." His eyes are closed. I can't see his soul anymore.

I blink, slowly, and smile. "You're the first one to encourage me, even a little bit. Thank you."

"Good luck."

As I walk down the hallway, I reflect on what I've heard.

Someday, I want to be able to control my emotions enough to lie about something that serious. It may be useful.

* * *

Is it just me, or is she changing as this goes on? Tell me if it's good or bad, because it will effect how I end this... 


	12. Confrontation

There's nothing else to do but see You, now. Nothing I can do will change me any more than I already have. This is the only course left to me.

I am standing outside the room where You always seem to be. It's so still, and I'm not allowing myself to think about anything.

This is going to end it, end the search for fulfillment, either way.

Knock on the door. I have to.

Don't think about it!

My knuckles are an inch from the wood when a strong arm wraps around my waist and I am draped across a wide shoulder. "Hey, kiddo. It's not a good idea to play around like that. You're lucky he's not here today."

"Hello," I say simply, bringing my arm up behind him to rest my head. "You have school today, don't you?"

"How about a deal, okay? I won't ask why you were outside that particular door, and you won't ask about why I'm not in school."

"I just asked to be reported sick. It's easier than being caught."

"Didn't I say we're not going to talk about it?" he laughs as he takes me into the small dining room used for lunchtime and informal meals. All of us like it here because of the kotatsu, because sitting around the heat and laughing feels like something to connect us to reality. When we're both seated, he says pleasantly, "Alright, tell me what's worrying you."

I hesitate. Should I tell him about You? I settle on a lesser worry. "Well…do you have a special someone?"

His soft features darken, just a little bit. "I did, but she doesn't like me anymore."

"But you know what it's like to be in love with someone? The difference?"

"I sure hope so. Why?"

I fiddle with my long bangs, nervous. "Well, I'm sure that I know, too. The way I love you is different from how I love Him." I use the word that has been said before, "R-romantically."

He blinks, never one to react immediately. "You love him…like that? Wow."

I frown, and continue, "But both of those feelings are different from my best friend, too."

He watches me for a moment, and then laughs. "So, you have a crush on him, but you don't know what to call the feeling you have for you best friend?"

"I suppose so."

"Right then." He takes out a pad of sketch paper, and draws two stick figures holding hands. "This is friendship. This is what you feel for me, and a lot of other people."

Not very many other people, but I nod and assign the drawings his name and mine.

He draws another picture, with the figures facing each other and kissing. "This is love, like what you want with him, right?"

I nod again, blushing. I hadn't thought about that part. Romantic love, it suddenly dawned on me, would entail more than just kissing. How had I never even thought about that before?

"Well, the way I see it, there's only three kinds of love. There's friendship, and then love, and then," he scribbled a figure on its knees, before a figure surrounded by light, "the thing between a god and a believer."

The love a believer feels for a god…isn't for my best friend. And it's not for him.

I close my eyes, understanding. He is trying to tell me that I'm not in love with You. But I am!

When I don't answer, he just shakes his head. "I think that you should talk to your best friend about it. He might be able to help you."

"Well, do you love your best friend in a way different from friendship?" I ask hopefully. Does he have the same problem that I do? Can't he help? He has always been there for me, before.

He shakes his head again. "My best friend turned out to be my special someone. I know exactly what I feel for her. I just don't know what to do now, since she doesn't love me like that anymore and I don't have a special someone or my best friend."

"What did you do wrong, to make her not love you anymore? Shouldn't you change, so that she will again?"

He crosses his arms on the table and lays there, looking up at me. He seems very young, and unsure. "She loved this me, before. I don't want to change. The reason that she doesn't love me anymore is because…"

I know what he's going to say before he finishes. He's going to say that it's because of You. But it's not. It can't be! If You are so against all of us loving someone, how will You react to me when I tell You that I love You? Isn't this what You want?

Will You hurt me again, even if I say that I love You?

Before he says it, I stand up and slam my hands down on the table. "I-I have to go," I try to say forcefully, but it comes out as a whimper. You won't hurt me, I know it. You will be happy. You will love me back.

You have to love me back. Look how much I've changed for You.

How can You not be proud?

* * *

At the beginning, I know it was cruel. But I gave you Hope, that which is greatest of all things. Name that reference and I'll glomp you, haha. Oh, and that hope thing directly relates to Adi complaining about suspense. I'm evil. I hope you continue to read happily! 


	13. Tears

One last thing before I see You. The very last thing, the only piece of doubt. I have to clear it up before I do anything else.

What do I feel for my very best friend?

The school bell rings. It's time for lunch. As we're filing out of the classroom door, toward the cafeteria, I tug on his sleeve and we head the other way, toward the library. This is our secret place. It's not as though anyone else goes there, anyway.

In the very back, we crouch down and he whispers, "What's wrong?"

"I have to ask you something, and you have to answer honestly."

"Anything for you," he promises, and he looks so serious that I smile.

"Do you," my voice breaks, and I recover, "do you love me differently than other friends?"

There is a long, drawn out moment of utter panic. "Why would you ask that?"

I sigh, and sit back all the way, leaning against the shelves. "Because that's how I am. You're different."

I watch with interest as he blushes. "I-I love you, for real. Like boyfriend and girlfriend."

I think for a while, and then shake my head. "That's not it, then. I already love someone like that."

The happy glow disappears faster than it came as he turns white as snow. There is a palpable feeling of despair as he opens his mouth, swallows painfully, and then says, "Who?" almost cheerfully - if it wasn't for the threatening tears.

"Him." And all he does is nod, refusing to meet my eyes. "I'm sorry. Does it hurt?"

He laughs, but it's more of a sob. "I'll be okay. But," now he stared at me earnestly, "can't you at least try to see me in that kind of way?"

I shake my head, feeling horrible but determined. "I'm _sorry_."

He nods to himself. "Have you told him yet?"

"I'll tell Him today, once I get home."

"And he'll accept it?"

Don't show my misgivings. "Yes. He has to, doesn't He?"

There is an expression of terror on his face, but it leaves before he says, "Of course he does." His hand comes up to his hair, a sign of discomfort. "But if he doesn't," he says slowly, carefully, "if he doesn't, will you try to think of me like that?"

I shake my head again, and whisper, "I couldn't do that to you. You deserve better than to be a silver medal."

He lowers his head, and I can hear the sniffles. After a few minutes, I draw him closer, and hold him as the shoulder of my uniform is soaked.

The bell rings. We both stand up, as he rubs his eyes, turning them bright red. Everyone will know.

"We can still be friends, can't we?" I ask, dreading the answer.

He blinks, and I'm afraid that he'll start to cry again. "Always. I'm not going to lose both my special someone and my best friend in one day." At the entrance of the library, he puts his hand on my shoulders and turns me to face him. I am reminded instantly of the romantic stick figures, and my face gets hot.

His lips press into my forehead. I can't breathe. "I hope you find happiness."

We go back to class, hand in hand.

I made him cry. But then, so have You. Just look at how similar we are.

But why can't I breathe yet? Why does my chest hurt so much?

It doesn't matter. You'll make it better after school today.

* * *

Oh god, oh god, oh god. I'm so mean. I'm going to update in a week. Because I'm evil, and I want to draw it out at least a little bit. Not like Akito's Love, when I posted the last three chapters on the same day. In a week, it's His turn. Yes. ...I feel so dirty... 


	14. Death

Still early, but I waited two days. Close enough, right? This chapter is pretty, you'll see! I'm happy with how it turned out!

* * *

I haven't been able to think since the teacher dismissed us for the day. I've been imagining this for days; just what I'll say ('_I love You_'), just what You'll say back ('_That makes me so happy_'), and just the way You'll smile at me and the world will be Right again. 

I'm outside Your door.

Has it always been so solid? Wasn't it supposed to get smaller as I grew up? What if I'm too weak to even slide it open, will You simply laugh and laugh on the other side?

I pull on the edge. It slides easily. There You are, on the cushions against the wall, draped in your deep purple yukata like a beautiful tapestry.

"I-I would like to request an audience," I stammer, trying to tear my eyes away from Your slender ankles, crossed over each other. They're very pale.

Your face comes up from being laid on Your arms, and You lift Yourself easily to Your feet, like a leaf. The series of near-poses You strike are fluid, and I'm staring again as You speak unto me: "Very well."

I open my mouth, and suddenly can't remember my own name. Where is the inner dialogue from so many rehearsals? What am I supposed to say next?

You slither closer, the silk on the floor reminding me of sand. "What is it? Do you have a problem?"

I lower my head, because it seems appropriate. "I w-wanted to tell You…"

You are inches away. "Yes?" I shiver.

"I love You." I flinch at my own words, and again at the silence. Feeling as though I hadn't explained properly, I add, "Um, romantically."

I flinch again when your slim, cold hand is pressed against my cheek, and look up. You are smiling, and the world is Right, and You say, "That makes me so happy."

I feel tears pricking at my eyes, and press closer to Your touch. It's all so perfect. Next is…

Oh. Next is the kissing part. My face burns.

"It's all right," You breathe, leaning down. I'm very aware of how far it is to Your face. My forehead prickles at the memory of my best friend, and I wonder if You are waiting for me to do something, or if You're going to kiss me Yourself.

Your hand moves to my chin, and I look at You again. Moments pass. Maybe I haven't made myself clear? "I mean that I want to be Your special someone…"

"I understand the way you feel," You assure me, Your cool hand sliding almost drunkenly along my jaw, toward my neck. "I love you, too. Such a pretty girl."

My head feels light, like when I used to faint all the time. "Then, You're not angry with me? You'll be my special someone, too?"

Your fingers tangle in my hair, and it feels wonderful, and You are only an inch away, half, a quarter…

"I never said that."

Your fingers tighten, and my head is snapped back. You are above me, smile gone, and the world is dark again. "_Why_?" You hiss, face warped with rage. "Why do you want to be my special person?"

I struggle, and my scalp is throbbing, and I gasp, "I-don't-want-You-to-be-lonely-"

You push with Your hand, and I am thrown to the side, landing on my hip. That doesn't hurt as bad as my heart, though. It's odd; I thought that I couldn't hold onto any emotion for very long, but this pain is overflowing and spreading around me in a dark pool…

Wait, no. That's just the edge of the step cutting into my side enough for me to bleed. Silly me.

Your hand wraps around my arm, and a bruise twinges but I ignore it. I'm not connecting very well, so I allow You to pull me up like a limp puppet. _Exactly_ like a puppet.

That's all I ever was to You, anyway.

It hurts! I'm crying, staring straight ahead, because I've been here before and I'm scrambling to get away in time. My feet leave the ground and I'm rushing through empty space and, suddenly, the empty space is filled with wall. My head bounces back with a hollow ring.

I slip down a few inches as Your hands shift to come around my neck, and I'm not breathing again. "_I don't need your pity_!" You snarl, squeezing tighter. Are you going to snap my neck, this time?

"I…don't…" I force out, straining my neck against Your strength and increasing the pain as you press harder.

Your eyes are like black holes, waiting to swallow me up and take away the sun.

No. I never had the sun to begin with. What I felt has never been real happiness. It has always been a paltry imitation, a gag. The closest I've come is at school, with my best friend, when he tried to get me to fit in with the others, and I had tried to _live_.

They were right, all along. I've never felt true love for You. But it was very, very, heartbreakingly close.

The darkness is getting closer, spreading from your eyes to the edges of the world. I'm going to go away now. But remember something for me…

I am Kisa.

Look at what I've become, for You to like me.

* * *

I never expected this to fit so well with the title. Odd, right? These things have a way of righting themselves. 


	15. Life

_Beep. Beep._

I am Kisa.

_Beep. Beep._

And the person I love…

_Beep. Beep._

…Isn't You, is it?

That beeping sounds familiar.

My eyes open, to a white ceiling. My breathing sounds shallow to my own ears, because of how it echoes, and I'm wearing an oxygen tube in my nose. The sheets are starchy and stiff, and I can smell antiseptic. I can taste…

Iron-y. Is that blood? They don't have blood after death, I thought. I never got the full Gospel from You.

You.

You killed me.

I open my mouth wide and start to scream.

Hiro rushes into the room and presses on my shoulders as I thrash, yelling crazy things, like I'm alive and You're not here to hurt me. Finally, I settle down, and I know that my face is covered in tears because they're reflected on his.

In a very small voice, I sigh, "Hiro." His face is pressed into my shoulder again, and he's not even trying to stop the loud sobs that shake my bed. "Why does my back hurt so much, Hiro?" I ask after a while.

He freezes, and sits back. "Akito tried to kill you."

"Yes, He did," I agree quietly, not associating myself with the helpless little girl sitting on the hospital bed. I was stronger than that. You didn't try to kill me; it was her, the child, the immature, naïve one, who doesn't understand the real nature of love.

"Well, he was choking you, and then, after you'd fainted, he started," he swallows, as though he is trying not to vomit, "stabbing you. W-with a knife that he got from the dining hall, no one even knows when. He's told Hatori that he likes to have one around in case he n-" he stops altogether, takes a deep breath, and finishes, "in case he needs it."

He keeps talking for a long time. I fade in and out, but I hear the important parts. They had rushed me to the hospital, and I had needed a blood transfusion. You had gotten very close to my spine, and they would be testing me for sensory response. The physical therapy would be several weeks…and I stopped at that.

"Hiro, I was wrong about everything," I said, interrupting him. "I don't love Him like that."

"I'm glad," he smiled, thumb stroking my hand as he held it. "But I'm so sorry this had to happen, Kisa."

I closed my eyes, for a very long time. I'm sure he thought I had fallen asleep. "Say it again, Hiro."

"What?" he asked, eagerly, willing to help in any way.

"Hiro… my name." My eyes open again, blearily, and I try to smile for him, because he needs it more than me.

"K-Kisa," he sobs, and he's really crying, not like in the library when I told him I didn't love him even though I do. There is a difference between how adults cry, because their hearts hurt or because someone died, and how kids do. One is an admission, a guilty thing saying, 'Yes, I am hurting, but I still have some dignity.' The other doesn't care. If every person we know marches through the room and laughs at him, Hiro won't care.

He is crying the way he cried for me whenever I would fall on my bike and skin my knee. This is out of relief that I was okay.

"Hiro, I think I want to be that person again. Do you think that will be alright?" My voice is weak to my own ears. I feel tired again.

He nods, and laughs, and cries some more, before I'm drifting to sleep. Struggling, before I went, I say, "There are only three kinds of love, Hiro, and I know which one is for you, now."

I go to sleep and I dream of You, because I still love You.

Maybe I'll figure out a way for You to like me, someday.

* * *

When did I say it was complete? Well, it is now. (Cue applause) Oh! And, for those who don't know (wow, people other than Adi are reading this - thank you!) this was written mostly as a gift to Adi88. Yay. I love how she spoke Hiro's name with every single sentence. The world around her seems more real to her. 

Sorry for torturing you, Adi. You're not really going to kill me...right?


End file.
